


As Thunder Rolls

by AmiLu



Series: Soulmate AUs [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, At least where it counts, Canon Compliant, Drabble Sequence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mental Link, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: Everyone had a soulmate, it was just a fact of life.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the second part of my Soulmate!AU series. Well, it's not actually a series—the works have no relation between themselves except for the fact that Harry is paired up with someone in the KHR universe.
> 
> Anyway now is Lambo's turn! This story was actually adopted from [Mez'N'Ser's Story Basket](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12146593/4/Story-Basket) in FFnet. (Thank you darlin' for letting me run away with it! I hope you enjoy how it turned out!)
> 
> This one will be rather short, with only two chapters (10 drabbles each). There may be some more extra drabbles depicting scenes that didn't make it to the main story, if I have the inspiration. (Promps are accepted for those!)
> 
> Aaaand, that's all. Enjoy!

**AS THUNDER ROLLS**

 

* * *

**1 – Love**

* * *

 

Everyone had a soulmate, it was just a fact of life. For many, it was reassuring to know they would never be truly alone in the world. This certainty was founded in the fact that it was well known and proved that as long as their soulmate lived, they would be able to hear them in their thoughts.

Of course, the system was not perfect.

Soulmates were not able to hear each other unless both of them had reached the age of five. Scientists theorized that this occurred because it was only at this age that human brains were developed enough to deal with the kind of stress adding another person's consciousness on top of their own was prone to cause.

They were also unable to hear or learn the other person's name until they met face to face for the first time. (The mind subconsciously blocked the information, perhaps to give love a chance to grow naturally, without the added weight of a name.)

The day Harry James Potter turned five, he hadn't been able to sleep.

For about a month, he had been subjected to the endless whining of his cousin, Dudley, who was not the littlest bit happy about the fact that he now had to share his mind with an annoying, icky little girl that was, in his own words, demanding and whiny. (No, Harry did not think his cousin had it wrong and was describing himself instead. He didn't.)

Dudley couldn't care less that the girl in question was his soulmate, someone who would forever be at his side—which completely baffled Harry.

The younger boy had secretly listened to his Aunt as she tried to make Dudley understand that being able to hear his soulmate's voice was a beautiful and precious thing, but the pudgy boy stubbornly refused to change his mind.

Harry, on the other hand, understood all too well what his Aunt was talking about.

Just the idea of having a connection so deep with someone else, someone that would always be there for him no matter what… It made Harry shiver and glow, breathless in the wake of hope he had not dared feel for a very long time.

He had waited for his birthday with belated breath, excited and impatient and so very _alive_ , but then midnight struck and… nothing happened.

Slightly disappointed but not yet willing to give up, Harry waited the whole day, but still nothing happened. Then a week had passed, and as there had not been a single whisper in his mind, that tiny piece of hope Harry had started to harbour in heart was ruthlessly crushed.

The worst part was that his relatives took notice of his depressed mood, quickly worked out the reason behind it, and gleefully started to rub the fact in his face whenever they had the chance. Even Dudley stopped whining and started gloating instead, smug in the knowledge that he had a soulmate while the freak did not.

Harry was miserable, but he slowly learned to live with it.

(Maybe the Dursleys were right. Maybe he simply didn't deserve to be loved.)

 

 

* * *

**2 – A voice in my head**

* * *

 

Harry continued to believe he was soulmate-less until he was almost seven years old.

He had been busy dusting the shelves of Dudley's second bedroom, eyeing some abandoned broken toy soldiers longingly and pondering whether snagging one or two and smuggling them into his cupboard was worth the risk, when suddenly there was a loud voice shouting on his ear.

 _'I will show them!_ _'_

Startled, the scrawny little boy almost jumped out of his skin and whirled around, sure that he had been discovered and was about to be punished. An apology was half-way out of his mouth when he noticed that there was no one there. He was alone.

Had he imagined it?

 _'I'm the great—!_ — _will defeat Reborn, and then everyone will have to bow to him!'_

Harry's eyes widened as he realized that the voice was _inside his head._

It was impossible! Harry didn't have a soulmate! The Dursleys had been sure that Harry was a soulmate-less freak, born without a destined one because he was unnatural and a disgrace that should have never been born!

(What little Harry didn't know was that everyone had a soulmate, and that there were only two reasons for a person not to be able to hear them: if they were not yet of age, or if they had already passed away. In this last case though, if they hadn't yet met face to face, the part that continued living was gifted with the deceased one's name.

But the Dursleys were petty and hateful people, and they never taught Harry about the bond. The misinformation worked well for them, as they could use it to make the little boy's life even more miserable. They knew it was not going to last, but they were happy to milk it for as long they were able to. As Harry never learned his soulmate's name, he was bound to hear them sooner or later. Had he known that, he would never had believed his relatives' claims, as he would have been safe in the knowledge that his bonded was still very much alive, just young.)

Dubious but nonetheless excited, Harry tentatively projected a thought towards the voice in his head.

 _'_ Are—Are you my soulmate?'

There was sudden silence as the other stopped the mad rant mid-word, and Harry worried that it had been just a fluke and nothing else, that he had truly just imagined it and—

A shrill scream pierced his mental eardrums and Harry flinched, reflexively covering his ears with his hands even though he knew it wouldn't be of help at all.

_'THERE IS A VOICE IN—'S HEAD!!! SOMEONE HELP!!!'_

Harry could not understand the younger voice's cries, but the panicked tone was enough to distract him from the building headache and prompt him to try and reassure the younger boy, for the voice sounded male.

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm not going to hurt you! _Please_ don't cry!' He begged desperately, but his words didn't seem to be having any kind of effect, if the increasingly distressed crying was anything to go by.

Starting to panic himself, Harry resorted to producing soft cooing and shushing sounds, feeling rather ridiculous as he was standing alone in a room with broken toys and the duster he had been using lying at his feet, forgotten. Little by little, the cries subsided and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.

It took at least thirty minutes for the other child to calm down completely, but Harry honestly didn't mind.

(How could he, when he had just made a friend who Dudley would never be able to scare away?)

(How could he, when he had just met his soulmate?)

 

 

* * *

**3 – Language barrier**

* * *

 

For some reason, Harry had never imagined his soulmate might not speak English. Not even before he started thinking that he didn't have one to begin with.

It was a startling discovery, and one he wasn't really happy with.

And how could he be? He had been longing for his soulmate for so long… It was a little bit disheartening, to suddenly be able to communicate with him but not understand a word of what he said.

After calming down, the voice had asked him something in a rather tame tone—at least compared to his earlier shouting _—_ , and it was then that Harry realized that he had no trouble recognizing the questioning tone, but the words escaped him completely.

His stomach dropped in dread.

'I—I'm sorry. I don't—I—I can't understand what you are saying,' he thought apologetically, ashamed of his inability to understand.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry bit his lip nervously. What if the other was disappointed? What if he didn't talk to Harry ever again?

 _'Ara—Etto…_ English?' The other asked tentatively, words heavily accented. 'No Italian? No _giapponese?_ '

Harry's heart leaped inside his chest, hope blooming and growing without inhibition. He—heunderstood!

'Sorry,' he repeated sheepishly. He had no idea what _giapponese_ was, but he was one hundred percent sure he didn't speak it. 'I only know English.'

'It's… good. —doesn't speak English very good, but he can… he can learn,' his soulmate said with firm determination, and Harry felt so happy he could cry. His soulmate was willing to learn English for him, to be able to communicate with him, to get to know him. And he knew two other languages, too! Harry was amazed, his soulmate was a genius!

'I can learn, too. Italian and—and jiaponise? For you.'

'… You do that for—?' The other asked in the tiniest voice Harry had heard from him yet. It sounded uncertain and small, all the boisterous confidence displayed before evaporating into thin air. As if he couldn't quite understand the notion of someone doing something so big for his sake. Harry narrowed his eyes. He knew intimately how that felt; he lived it every day with his relatives: utter disregard, unless it was to mock him or order him around. He didn't like the implication that his little soulmate was going through something similar.

Harry would not stand for it. He was going to make damn sure that the other had all the attention he needed from him from now on. If nothing else, he would always be there to listen to what the other had to say.

They were going to do this together.

“Yes,” he finally stated in a firm voice, both in his mind and aloud.

It felt like a vow. It tasted like a promise.

 

 

* * *

**4 – Thunder and Lightning**

* * *

 

Lambo was many things.

He was loud, he was obnoxious and he was five years old and a hitman of the Bovino Famiglia who loved candies and grapes. He was five years old and had been kicked out of his home with the promise that if he killed the Number One Hitman in the World, he would be accepted back.

Lambo was tenacious and determined, even in the face of his continuous losses; he was brash and acted without thinking, which usually ended in him being defeated by his own weapons. He was a crybaby who was easily upset, but who was also easy to calm down with just a bit of candy and some affection.

He was also a genius, even if nobody except his kind beautiful soulmate acknowledged it.

Lambo was only five years old, but he knew how to handle an assorted range of weapons with ease. He couldn't read for the life of him, but he arrived in Japan speaking its language fluently, even though he had only been learning it by ear for about five months.

He was loud and talked big, but he didn't actually believe everything he said. He just knew that if he didn't speak that way, he would be completely ignored.

Lightning understood, and he didn't mind.

He was always there for Lambo, listening to his rants and his plans, his dreams, his fears. Lightning never ignored him, and often made him laugh. He even offered Lambo help with his English! Admittedly, Lambo didn't need the help that much (his English hadn't been that good to begin with but it hadn't been horrible either, and he had mastered it pretty easily after only two months of constant talking with his soulmate), but it was the thought that counted. Moreover, Lightning insisted that he wanted to learn both Italian and Japanese, just for him! Just for Lambo!

(The little boy had never had a person do something so nice for him. He had never had a person to praise him and admire him but also scold him and listen to him. Lightning did all that and more and Lambo was fully convinced that his soulmate had to be the most kindhearted person in the world. Tsuna-nii was second.)

It was two months after they first heard each other that they decided to give each other nicknames.

Lambo decided to call his soulmate Lightning because of how fast the older boy could be, especially when he was running away from his bullies. (The knowledge that some stupid kids liked to bully his soulmate made Lambo want to introduce them to his grenades. Lightning was adamant that he should not harm them though, which irked him a little—but that was just how his soulmate was. Forgiving and oh so very kind.)

In return, Lightning started calling him Thunder. He said it was because of how loud Lambo was, as even in his thoughts the younger boy was always shouting. Lightning assured him that it didn't bother him, though. In fact, he had confessed that he found it adorable. (Lambo had sputtered and blushed madly then, and had proceeded to ferociously deny it. Lightning had only laughed at him. The meany.)

'It's true,' the older boy had thought, still chuckling. 'But there is also the fact that you simply can't have the lightning without the roll of thunder, so it fits.'

Lambo had grumbled for show, but he agreed.

Wholeheartedly.

 

 

* * *

**5 – The Ten Year Bazooka**

* * *

 

The first time Harry experienced the effects of the Ten Year Bazooka was a month and a half after his soulmate's fifth birthday and their first meeting.

Luckily, he had been sitting on a swing on the park, working on the pronunciation of the twenty Italian words his soulmate had taught him and trying not to think too much about the fact that said soulmate had just boarded a plane to Japan the day before. Alone.

He could not understand everything the other boy had said when he had tried to explain the why to him, but Harry got the gist of it, and he didn't like it.

Apparently, his 'Famiglia' had kicked him out. And they had told him that to be accepted back he had to kill someone who was great. And for that he had to go to Japan and find that person first.

Now, Harry knew that his soulmate was quite a genius for his age, but he still doubted he would be able to really kill someone. Much less if this 'someone' was great. He was five! Harry had thought the Dursleys were bad, but his soulmate's family sounded even worse. They sent a child to murder someone. _A child!_

'Yare, yare. Don't worry so much, my Lightning-chan. I'm certain that little me will be just fine.'

Harry let out an embarrassingly loud sound of surprise as he fell out of the swing. He coughed but quickly got to his feet, wildly looking around as he tried to pinpoint where the drawling voice had come from, but to his endless confusion there was nobody there. Not near enough to him, at least. The voice had sounded right behind him, and the only other people Harry could see were at the other end of the park.

“Wha—What?” Harry asked, bewildered.

'Well… I suppose I must sound very different from the five-year-old me,' the voice said thoughtfully and then added in an undertone, 'But that's not really surprising. I was a whiny crybaby back then…'

Harry blinked owlishly as he looked around again, uncomprehendingly. Nope. There was nobody there. Wait a second—The voice was coming from inside his head, but it was not his little soulmate! Who was that? How did this happen?!

'Who are you, and what did you do with my soulmate?!' Harry growled, feeling anger like he had never before. This—this unknown had done something to his soulmate! 'Give him back!'

'Ah. So we have just met, then. You don't even call me by my nickname, that means that you haven't yet decided on them.'

'What?'

'I'm the fifteen-year-old version of your soulmate, _prezioso_. Little — has just used the Ten Year Bazooka on himself, a device invented by the — Famiglia, which permits the target to switch with their ten years older self. I suppose this is the first time you've heard of it?'

Harry could only nod numbly, amazed by the impossibility. Then he realized that this _older version of his soulmate_ needed a verbal response from him and he just managed to convey his assent by a weak 'huh' sound.

'Don't worry, it only lasts for five minutes before reverting. But I suggest you get accustomed to it, I remember using it many times after arriving at Namimori and meeting Tsuna-nii.'

'Tsuna-nii?' Harry asked, overwhelmed.

'Yeah, he's—'

Harry didn't get to know who this Tsuna-nii was right then, because the calm voice cut off abruptly and was replaced by the content giggling of his younger soulmate.

The almost seven-year-old blinked, completely flabbergasted.

Huh. That had been quite an experience.

 

 

* * *

**6 – Mafia**

* * *

 

Apparently, 'Tsuna-nii' was Thunder's adopted older brother.

Well, not actually legally adopted, but that was just a small technicality.

It had taken about a three weeks of trying and failing to assassinate The World's Greatest Hitman (and Harry had been understandably terrified and upset when he understood just _who_ his little soulmate had been ordered to kill. What was his damn family thinking?!), a lot of crying and many uses of the Ten Year Bazooka before Harry could start breathing easily again, as the other boy had taken a liking to Tsuna-nii's mother and decided that he would stop with his assassination attempts and instead accept the invitation to stay at Tsuna-nii's home.

Harry was grateful to the other boy for taking Thunder in, but he really could do without all the weird and dangerous things happening over there!

The Mafia? Escaped convicts abducting middle-school kids? A messed up battle tournament against a trained group of assassins over some silly rings?

Harry was ready to tear his hair out!

He wanted nothing else than to find a way to Japan, even if he didn't know where it really was or have any money to do so, and drag Thunder back with him to England. The older boy was pretty sure he had aged ten years with all the stunts the younger pulled! (Without the use of the Bazooka!)

Worst still was the last stunt.

Seriously, a battle royal against other powerful Famiglias in order to free Reborn (the same person he had been ordered to kill over a year before) from his cursed baby form which ended in Tsuna devising a way to hold some pacifiers and thus the balance of the world intact without having to sacrifice six people every thirty years or so?

Harry was so done.

His only consolation was that Thunder hadn't yet had to fight against some murdering psychopath trying to take over the world, but he'd take what he could.

(If only he knew.)

 

 

* * *

**7 – Family**

* * *

 

Lambo hissed under his breath threateningly, gaining a few questioning glances over the dinner table.

He didn't really notice, as he was too worked up having a mental discussion with his soulmate. His relatives had punished the older boy unfairly once again, and Lambo was trying every tactic he could think of to convince Lightning that letting him fly to England and kill them was good idea.

Lambo hated how those people treated Lightning! They made him do all the chores around the house, didn't feed him enough, didn't give him any new clothes, didn't celebrate his birthday! They even made him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs! Lambo _hated_ them!

The young guardian wanted nothing more than to go over to England and introduce his soulmate's family to every single one of his weapons—including the experimental, not yet tested ones.

He hated them, hated them, _hated them!_

And the worst thing was that Lightning actually defended them!

It infuriated him! His Lightning honestly believed what those disgusting pigs said about him, that he deserved all their punishments. Lambo was trying to make the older boy see sense, to understand that his Aunt and Uncle and cousin were all wrong, that Lightning was not useless or a burden or a freak. He was a beautiful person!

Sadly, he wasn't yet having much success.

It would be easy to kidnap him and bring him home to Japan, away from his relatives, but he knew it wasn't safe for the older boy to come with him just yet. He may be brash and loud and might not think things through most of the time, but Lambo was still a genius from the Bovino Famiglia. With how everything was going it would be a long time before it was safe enough for Lightning to join his new Family. Sure, Tsuna-nii was now the official successor of the Vongola, but he hadn't yet assumed leadership. Until that happened, the world of the Mafia was not safe enough to bring his civilian soulmate into the fray.

Even knowing so, it didn't stop Lambo from grumbling about roasting fat pigs and giraffes with his bazooka.

Reborn heard him and lifted an eyebrow curiously.

"What are you muttering about now?" The man-in-a-boy's body asked.

Lambo looked up in surprise that his 'rival' was actually talking to him voluntarily before huffing, "Lambo wants to kill his soulmate's family."

Tsuna choked on his rice and Gokudera hovered over him worriedly as Yamamoto laughed.

“WHAT?”

"Ah.” The now uncursed but still small Arcobaleno looked faintly surprised but very much amused. “Why?" He asked curiously.

Tsuna sent him a scandalized glare but Reborn expertly ignored it.

"Because they are stupid animals, and they hurt Lambo's soulmate,” he said factually, eyes narrowed. Then he added petulantly, “And Lightning won't let Lambo put a hit on them."

Reborn hummed thoughtfully and then his eyes brightened with sudden understanding.

“You call them Lightning?”

“Yup. And Lambo is Thunder!” He said proudly, making Tsuna and Gokudera gape at him.

“So whenever you were muttering about thunder and lightning you were referring to yourself and your soulmate?! We thought you were speaking about the weather!” His nii-san cried.

“Dammit, stupid cow! Do you know how many times I carried around an umbrella because I thought it was going to rain?!” Gokudera cursed angrily.

“Broccoli-head has a soulmate?” I-pin asked from her seat, curiously. “How long since you can hear them?”

Lambo blinked uncomprehendingly at them.

“Eh? Lambo hasn't mentioned Lightning to you yet?”

“NO!” Gokudera yelled as the rest, except Reborn, shook their heads in the negative.

“Oh. Well, Lambo has been able to hear him since he turned five! Now it's April so… almost a year?”

“A year?”

“Him?”

“So he's older?”

“And you didn't say anything?”

“Is he a good person?”

“Ahaha! Congratulations, chibi!”

“Did you say his family hurt him?” Nana asked with a soft but cutting voice, immediately silencing the rest of the group. She looked at Lambo with intense eyes, so uncommon for her.

Lambo nodded somberly in response. “They don't treat him well. He doesn't eat enough and he sleeps in the cupboard, but he believes he deserves it,” his eyes filled with frustrated tears that he hastily wiped away with the sleeve of his cow onesie. “He doesn't! Lightning is the kindest person in the world!”

Tsuna looked grim, and a dark aura suddenly descended over the rest of the group, thick and dangerous.

“We'll get him out,” Tsuna said with the same voice he had declared that he'd tear down Vongola from the inside before inheriting its sins. It was a tone that reassured Lambo like nothing else could, because it was not only his brother speaking, but also his Sky. And he knew that this person always kept his promises. “Once it's safe to bring him here, we'll get him out, Lambo. I promise.”

Lambo smiled gratefully before launching himself at his nii-san.

He loved his new Family, there was no doubt about that. Now he only had to complete it.

(And that would only happen when he had his Lightning by his side.)

 

 

* * *

**8 – Devastation**

* * *

 

It was on one of the first days of May, almost a year after he first heard Thunder's voice in his head, that Harry almost had a heart attack.

Thunder had decided to play a prank on Reborn and Harry had tried to convince his little soulmate that doing so was not a particularly good idea, but was forced to give up when Thunder stubbornly refused to see sense.

Harry had to bit his tongue hard to refrain from telling him 'told you so' (the physical pain helped even if he did not need to actually say the words) when the prank—which consisted on a handful of grenades, a cup of espresso and a puddle of mud—explosively backfired and ended with Thunder crying indignantly over the bond.

Harry had sighed and was about to tell his soulmate that everything was going to be fine when the other muttered a phrase in Japanese that Harry had long ago learned to recognize.

_'Must… stay… calm…'_

He sighed and braced himself for the arrival of Older Thunder. It was still disconcerting, even after a year of his first interaction with his soulmate from the future and Harry's numerous encounters with him since then. He sometimes wondered if he hadn't simply gone crazy.

As expected, Little Thunder's loud crying was soon gone from his mind, which indicated that the switch had taken place.

But the customary 'Yare' did not come.

Instead, Harry panicked as his mind was immediately flooded with thousands or millions of thoughts. Spiraling out of control, superposing each other and clashing; completely incoherent, mindless cries that were tinged with desperation and bone-deep horror.

It broke the young boy's heart, because even when he could not understand a word of it, he could literally feel his soulmate's desolation and pain.

Harry felt the need to do something to calm him down, to appease the other's fears. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him that he was fine, that he was going to be okay—but he was not even able to hear his own thoughts over the roar of Thunder's and the constant litany of _'No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!'_ that seemed to accompany them.

And Harry was crying, desperate tears born from the deep sense of uselessness that arose inside him at being unable to help his soulmate when he needed it, at hearing his soulmate feeling so much pain and not being able to do anything to stop it.

It didn't matter that he was at school or that the teacher was talking to him or that his classmates were laughing and pointing towards him mockingly, Harry was in too much emotional pain to even notice, much less to care.

He desperately clutched at his heart over his shirt, feeling the mad beating of the muscle beneath his fingers while at the same time he tried to force air into his lungs. He felt like he was drowning, like he was going to die—

And then everything stopped, leaving Harry's head ringing and his body trembling, almost heaving as his lungs finally decided to cooperate and fill with oxygen again.

He was on the floor, tears still spilling down his face and his things spilled around him where they had fallen together with the boy, but Harry didn't pay them any mind.

His mind was stuck repeating the only phrase he had caught in the whirlwind of thoughts before Older Thunder's consciousness was replaced with his younger self's.

'What's the thunder without its lightning?'

Harry shivered uncontrollably.

He honestly did not want to know what that could possibly mean.

The sole idea was terrifying.

 

 

* * *

**9 - Magic**

* * *

 

Lambo was nine when he learned about magic.

It was a shock for both him and his Lightning, even when it shouldn't have been.

(Lambo was in the Mafia and was the Lightning guardian of Vongola Decimo. He might still be in training, but he had Dying Will Flames, which were something akin superpowers—at least for him and his soulmate.)

He shared Lightning's enthusiasm of discovering the Magical World right up until the moment they learned how did this community see the older boy.

A miracle. A saviour.

A _commodity_.

Beloved and acclaimed one day, forgotten and rejected the other. It didn't matter what Lightning wanted, the wizards kept forcing their beliefs and they hopes on him, invading his privacy, demanding that he fix their problems one moment, and then turning around and shunning him when Lightning did something that did not fit the image they had constructed of him.

The Philosopher's stone and a possessed professor were just the tip of the iceberg.

Then there was an evil diary, giant spiders and an even larger snake—which was horrible because Lambo's soulmate had almost died that time (he would be always be grateful to Fawkes, the phoenix, for saving him).

Even Tsuna-nii, loving soul that he was, started hating the wizards when the mess with Lightning's godfather was brought to light.

“What kind of shitheads run that crazy world's government?!” He had growled dangerously when Lambo told them that Sirius Black was actually innocent and had never been given a fair trial before being thrown in prison. This caused everyone to jump and look at him with round eyes. Tsuna must have been truly angry, because the twenty-year-old man did not usually swear—it was almost unheard of.

In Lightning's fourth year of magical education, Lambo had been ready to forget about everything and go to England to kidnap his soulmate, wizards be damned. He was twelve years old—Lightning was fourteen—and he felt Lightning's horrified disbelief when he was proclaimed the fourth champion of a deadly tournament. Finally, Lambo understood how the other must have felt back when he was five and had to participate in the Ring Battles against the Varia.

(Competing against older, more knowledgeable wizards and witches with a lot more experience in a tournament that had claimed lives before? Lightning was convinced that it was somehow a ploy of Voldemort to get him killed. Lambo agreed.)

'Sorry, Thun. I'd love to go with you, you know, but there is no way I can get out of this. It's a magical contract after all, forfeiting will end in the loss of my magic, and perhaps even death. And you know that the wizards won't just let me go. They have ways to track me that are unstoppable. If Shoichi finishes that cloaking device that uses Mist Flames that he thinks might be able to block magic from working to localize me, then I'll consider it. But I don't want to lead the wizards to you. I don't want a war starting over me, or be the cause that the magicals learn of the Mafia—which would potentially mean involving the Vindice. It's too risky.'

And Lambo understood.

He had always understood.

(They had after all talked about getting Lightning out of his relative's house way before they learned of the Wizarding World.

It had been vetoed at the beginning because Tsuna was still too young and hadn't yet assumed the reigns of Vongola, and after that it was simply too dangerous to involve civilians until the worst of Underworld was cleaned up and the Tenth Don was firmly established in his position. Then, magic knocked on their metaphorical door and a new level of complication was reached: how to get Lightning away in a way that he couldn't be immediately dragged back?

Shoichi offered to work on a possible solution, but it worked only in theory, as they really didn't have anyone to test it on. Searching for a magical community was not easy either, because they were secretive as fuck and they had to be careful unless they wanted their memories being wiped off. It had happened a couple of times to the men who had been assigned to do so before they realized what was happening, and after that they were not keen on repeating that mistake.)

That didn't mean he had to like it.

Then the fucking Voldiepants spirited Lightning away from the school and used him to complete a sick ritual to regain his body and NOBODY BELIEVED LIGHTNING WHEN HE TOLD!

Fifth year was horrible and expanded his list of 'people who I'll gladly kill when I have the opportunity. Slowly.' (The now adult-looking Reborn had been very amused when he found Lambo's notebook, filled with detailed descriptions on the hits he was planning. Lambo even dared to think the hitman looked _proud._ )  
  
It really irked him when Lightning started using stupid Occlumency to shade his thoughts from him at the end of fifth year.

At the beginning he hadn't actually given it much importance—there were things Lambo would have also liked to remain completely private. They _were_ teenagers, after all, and some things were just plain embarrassing—, because it was not like the other was shutting him out completely; but when one night at the end of sixth year the wall Lambo hadn't even noticed had formed between them completely shattered, flooding Lambo's mind with Lightning's desperate thoughts, Lambo lashed out.

'Why won't you tell me what's wrong!' He asked harshly when the other teen only put the wall up again after Lambo pointed it out.

'It's to protect you. There are things you don't need to know,' Lightning justified.

'Bullshit,' Lambo snarled angrily. 'We're soulmates. We are in this together. If you have problems, why won't you let me help? Don't you trust me?'

'I do! I do trust you, Thun!'

'Then let me help!'

There was a deep, remorseful silence and then a simple, 'I'm sorry.'

It was the longest fight they ever had.

(They didn't speak again for months, and Lambo would forever regret that decision.)

 

 

* * *

**10 - Goodbye**

* * *

 

Lambo was brooding.

He missed talking with Lightning about anything and everything without a care in the world. He was still angry at the other boy for shutting him out, and although Lightning had made an effort to reconnect with him a little while after their fight, he was still adamant about leaving Lambo in the dark.

He hated it. Something was going to happen, he could feel it!

From the little information Lambo got from his soulmate, Lightning was in danger. And not danger like what he had faced at Hogwarts, but something much bigger. He was running. He was running and people were dying and there was something that Lightning had to do, but Lambo couldn't work it out for the life of him.

He was sure that it had to do with Voldemort… it always had something to do with Voldemort.

And Lambo feared for his soulmate's life.

(He was fifteen though, and even if he was a genius, he was still smarting from the other boy's decision. Even though he knew that ignoring his soulmate was not the way to work things out, he felt spiteful and hurt, because Lightning was shutting him out, was leaving him aside. He was telling him he was not trusted, not with the problems he was facing, not as he was now. And damn it, it _hurt._ )

'Thunder?'

The youngest of the Vongola guardians jolted, surprised. It had been a while since the last time Lightning tried to coax him into talking, and the teen pondered for a second if he should continue with the silent treatment. But then the other continued talking, and Lambo simply couldn't ignore him anymore.

'Thun, I know you are still mad at me. I—I know that I deserve it but— _Please_. Please, would you talk to me?' The anguish in that beloved voice was too much. Lambo didn't understand what was happening but he was not about to let his soulmate suffer like that.

'Love. Hey, love, what's wrong?'

'Oh, thank Merlin,' the other cried in relief, and Lambo was starting to panic. What was wrong? Lightning never sounded like that! He was steady and strong, sometimes a little insecure but never broken. Always kind. What was happening that made him so emotional? 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!'

'Hey. Hey. Stop that, what—? Lightning, what's happening? Talk to me!' He begged desperately, ignoring the curious glances he was gaining from the guardians sitting closer to him.

There was a long pause as Lambo waited for his Lightning to reply.

(Unknown to him, somewhere in Scotland, Harry Potter was smiling sadly as he greeted the ghosts of his family for the last time. He was walking to his death, was it wrong to want to say goodbye to the people he loved the most?)

'Lightning?' Lambo prompted uneasily.

'I always found it funny, that you nicknamed me after the lightning,' the boy mused, earlier desperation and broken-ness completely gone, as it had never been there to begin with. It did not make sense, it was scaring him.

'I call you that because you are really fast, and because of how intense you can get when you are passionate about something—because it's nearly electric,' Lambo said tentatively as dread crept up his spine.

Something was wrong, wrong, _wrong,_ _ **wrong**_ _,_ _ **WRONG**_ _._

(He could feel it. Like a ring, like blaring alarms and flashing red lights inundating his mind and urging him to bolt, to stand up, to do _something.)_

Lightning hummed. Agreeably, noncommittally.

'Mmm—yes. And it is also the shape of my scar, the one who has defined me for a very long time. But that was not what I was trying to point out. No, the curious thing about the lightning that make this so ironic is that—you know, it appears in a flash before it's gone.'

Lambo had already jumped out of his seat and was running for the door before the other boy could finish.

There were questioning shouts and muttered curses behind him as he brusquely abandoned the meeting, but he could not bring himself to care.

(He couldn't even hear them.)

'Lightning, what are you talking about? What are you—?'

'I just wanted to say I'm sorry. And goodbye. I love you, my Thunder.'

And it was at that moment that Lambo learned his beloved's name.

(The guardians and the others who had followed the teen out of the room were horrified when Lambo suddenly collapsed, crying agonized sobs and desperately calling for 'Harry'. Reborn tilted down his fedora and looked on grimly as green flames sprung and enveloped the grieving boy, crackling around him in desperation to be used. He recognized this image, he had seen it ten years before after a prank gone wrong.

For that reason, he was not surprised when the boy was replaced with his five-year-old self after being enveloped in a pink poof of smoke.

Even so, he lamented the fact that they hadn't managed to prevent this from happening.

He had hoped.)


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE! I struggled, oh, I struggled. But I'm fairly happy with how it turned out.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support! Hope you enjoy this <3
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
>  **MINOR WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:** Some swearing. Brief mention of suicidal thoughts. FLUFF. Like. FLUFFY FLUFF.

**AS THUNDER ROLLS**

**PART II**

 

* * *

**11 – Mothers' Love**

* * *

 

Harry died.

He died; he let Voldemort kill him. To get rid of the Horcrux in his head, to give the rest of the Order a chance to end the war, he had let the man—the _monster_ who had been trying to do him in since before he was born—finally kill him.

He had seen his parents—and Sirius and Remus—and asked them for forgiveness, for companionship until the end. He had told them he would see them again at the other side.

Gathering his courage, Harry had said his first and last 'I love you' to his soulmate—his beautiful Thunder who had deserved so much more than being stuck with Harry. He had said his goodbyes.

And then he had walked to his death.

He had _died._

So why didn't he _feel_ dead?

(Wasn't he supposed to go to heaven or something? See his parents and everyone who died in the war?

Why was he stuck here, alone?)

Harry looked around the white space in in bemusement. He recognized it, he had been there many times before.

King's Cross station was silent.

Silent, completely void of people and noise. White. Bright.

Unnatural.

Then he heard it—a cry.

It was ugly and broken and lonely, and Harry felt his heart squeeze. It came from beneath a bench, and promptly became soft whimpers as Harry cautiously approached its source.

“It's better if you leave him alone,” a soft voice said behind him, and Harry quickly turned with his arm raised, ready to curse the person who had successfully sneaked up on him. Then he noticed his hand was empty. He had no wand. The woman in front of him chuckled softly, amused. “Ah, that won't be of any use. Magic doesn't work here, you know.”

The teenager looked at her warily. She was rather young, pretty. A mass of black curls was pinned on top of her head in a messy bun, and her eyes were green. She could have passed for Harry's mother, if he hadn't known how Lily Potter looked like.

“Who are you?” he asked demandingly, cursing his curiosity at the same time.

“Her name is Grazia, Grazia Bovino,” another woman answered and Harry turned again, but this time he was careful to keep the first woman in sight. Then he registered the identity of the new speaker and he stumbled.

“Mum?”

Lily Potter smiled tenderly. Harry was struck with the realization that she was much more beautiful than he remembered—much more beautiful now that he was able to notice the vibrant red of her hair and the sparkling green of her eyes than when he had last seen her. The shade he had seen in the Forbidden Forest had been nothing but a pale imitation.

“Hello, Harry.”

“What—Why—?”

“You are dead, son,” she said sadly. “You completed your task; you let that monster kill you,” she stated with a frown, then she clicked her teeth in disapproval and amended, “Well. You let him kill _a part_ of you.”

Harry frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

She didn't answer directly. Instead, after she tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear, she asked, “What's a Horcrux, exactly?”

Harry blinked. “A piece of the soul, broken off from the main part and anchored to a recipient,” he answered doubtfully, not quite sure where this was going.

“Yes, that's it, in a nutshell. Think of it like this: You were the recipient, but you had your own soul. Voldemort's tiny piece was stuck to you; it was a living thing, but not a part _of_ you—more like… a parasite.” Harry scrunched up his nose in distaste, unconsciously imitating his mother's gesture. “The killing curse only works if you aim to kill a living being, but is not keyed to a particular entity—there wouldn't be deaths by stray curses if this was the case. So when Voldemort threw _Avada Kedavra_ at you, he was aiming to kill a living being but not _specifically_ _you_.”

“So… he killed the Horcrux, but not me?”

“Yes and no. He did kill the Horcrux, and you couldn't avoid the effect completely because you were its living container and it was attached to you, but… actually, you are not technically dead yet,” she revealed.

“Yet?”

“What your mother is trying to say is that you have a choice,” intervened the first woman, and Harry jolted, having forgotten she was there.

“What?”

Lily nodded, a little sadly. “That's right. You have a choice now. You can either follow the Horcrux and come to the afterlife with us… or you could go back.”

“Go… back?”

Back to what?

Harry searched for a reason. Why should he?

Going back meant returning to the war, to the fighting. To being hunted down and seeing comrades die.

It meant returning to his friends, to little Teddy. To live the life he had envisioned but not dared to hope for when it became clear that he was the only one able to vanquish Voldemort.

It meant going back to his Thunder.

(Merlin… _his Thunder!)_

Every bit of doubt he might have harboured quickly disappeared as he thought about his soulmate and how he must have been feeling since Harry's abrupt demise. (Unbridled, a memory of deep sorrow and desperation flashed in his mind. Uncontrolled thoughts overlapping, a continuous echo of _no, no, no, no, NO!_ _)_

Harry's heart squeezed again, sorrow and sudden anxiety demanding that he do _something._ _Now._ “I—Yes. _Yes._ I'm going back,” he said, green eyes sparkling with power and focused determination.

Harry had to go back. There was simply no other option.

Both women interchanged knowing glances and then they smiled.

“Then go, honey,” Lily said, embracing him for the first time in sixteen years. Harry felt his throat suddenly tighten, words he had wanted to say completely lost at his mother's touch. She kissed his brow tenderly and then wiped away the tears that had escaped his eyes without him noticing. “Go back and _live_. Go find that boy of yours, and be happy. Promise me that you will start putting yourself first, that you won't let the world dictate your life any longer,” she said in a strange but powerful mix of loving and stern. “ _Promise me,_ Harry.”

“I… I will, mum.”

“Lambo.”

“Huh?”

“Your Thunder. His name is Lambo, Lambo Bovino,” the first woman said. Harry turned big eyes towards her. She was looking at them perhaps a little wistfully as she smiled. “You will need his name, if you want to find him.”

“ _Lambo,_ ” he breathed out in wonder, and then he realized something. He pinned Grazia with a penetrating stare. “Bovino?”

The woman smiled brightly and approached him. She imitated his own mother and put a kiss on his brow. “He's my baby boy,” she said lovingly, confirming Harry's suspicion. “I—Will you tell him that I loved him above all else in this world?” She asked breathlessly, and then suddenly broke down in tears. Alarmed, Harry looked at his mother in search of help but the redhead simply smiled and made a vague gesture with her hand towards them. Harry had to suppress a scowl.

“Er—ah, sure. Yes, I'll tell him, ma'am,” he answered awkwardly, patting the woman's back while feeling deeply uncomfortable.

“You are such a good boy,” she sniffed. She let him go but stayed close, cupping his face with slim hands and studying him with keen eyes. “I'm glad my little Lambo has such a kind soulmate,” she murmured with a small upward twist of her lips, and Harry was surprised to notice that there was no hint of the tears left in her eyes. Lambo must have inherited his crybaby tendencies from her. The woman patted his cheek softly, warm smile lightning up her whole face as she demanded, “Take care of him, but let him take care of _you_ , too. You _both_ need it.”

Harry blushed but nodded his acceptance. Grazia stepped away to let Lily hug him one more time and then he was back in the world of the living—just in time to hear Narcissa Malfoy asking for information about his son's whereabouts, and promptly lying to her Lord after receiving good news.

Harry was then firmly convinced that a mother's love was truly a force to be reckoned with.

 

* * *

**12 – Aftermath**

* * *

 

“—is my duty to inform the Wizarding World!”

“—from Mister Potter, is it?”

“We need to know!”

“—should have left—”

“—Who-Conquered. Why wouldn't he—”

“ENOUGH! My patient needs rest and _you_ _lot_ _are not helping_. Get OUT of my infirmary before I MAKE YOU.”

There was a roar of indignation swiftly followed by many surprised squeaks. A door opened and closed and suddenly there was peace.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. Those vultures have been almost impossible to control since yesterday. We were lucky they were too deep in their hidey-holes and the news of You-Know-Who being bested was slow to reach them. I can safely bet that they would have been here the first day after the Battle hounding everybody if that wasn't the case,” Madam Pomphrey ranted as she cast diagnosis spell after diagnosis spell on him.

“How long—?” Harry croaked out and then coughed. Ugh. His mouth felt gritty and the lights hurt when he tried to open his eyes.

The medi-witch helped him sit and offered him a glass of water. He accepted it gratefully and greedily drank its contents. Then she presented him with two vials of potion. He grimaced, knowing they would taste worse than dirt, but obediently and unquestioningly gulped them down. More water was offered and Harry smiled gratefully before drinking it to wash the taste off.

“How long was I out?” He asked again, pleased to notice that he sounded almost normal.

“Three days,” the woman said pursing her lips. “You have a severe case of magical exhaustion, not to mention lack of sleep and slight malnutrition. The potions will help reduce the effects of the first and the last, but the second you will have to work on your own. Dreamless sleep is not an option right now, as there is a shortage of doses and we need to use them with the worst cases.”

Harry nodded understandingly. He was glad though. He didn't really fancy being in a potion induced sleep for who knows how long—he had already lost three days. He didn't want to lose any more.

“Thank you. May I—May I speak with Ron and Hermione, please?”

The witch did not look very happy, but as Harry pointed out that he had been sleeping for three days straight and that ten or fifteen minutes of wakefulness before going back to unconsciousness couldn't hurt, she finally relented.

He didn't have to wait much before his friends were right beside him.

“Oh, Harry, how are you? We were worried sick!” Hermione said before she embraced him in one of those killer hugs the boys had long become used to receiving.

“I'm fine, 'Mione, just a little sore. Been sleeping for three days, you know.”

“Yes, we know, mate. That's why we were worried. You weren't in a magically induced sleep and you don't normally sleep that long, it was weird.”

“Apparently, a combination of magic depletion, lack of sleep and slight malnutrition is enough to chain my unruliness,” Harry said drily.

“Don't be so flippant about it, Harry James Potter!” Hermione bristled, narrowing her eyes dangerously at him. The addressed teen put his hands up in a pacifying gesture.

“Sorry, sorry!” He said lightly, and then the three teens had to suppress a chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all. “I'm okay, though,” he added sincerely, before he frowned. His tone changed as he asked worriedly, “You guys? Ron, your family?”

That immediately sobered them up. The redhead looked grim, and Hermione glanced away for a brief moment, trying to suppress her tears.

“George is a mess. Mum's pretty devastated, too, but she's taken to cooking for everyone as a distraction instead of shutting herself away,” the boy said, trying for nonchalance but falling short. Guilt ate at Harry's insides.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped.

“'S not your fault, man.”

“Still, I'm sorry. If I had done something earlier—”

“Shut up, you imbecilic dunderhead! Is not your fault!” Hermione interrupted with a growl. Both Harry and Ron looked at her with round, surprised eyes. She frowned. “What?”

“She's channelling Snape,” the bedridden boy whispered in awed fascination.

Ron was pale. “Oh, Merlin, no.”

“Good luck, mate. I think you'll need it,” Harry said solemnly to the horror-stricken teen, only to receive a cuff from their female friend.

“You two are impossible,” she huffed with a laugh, and Harry grinned at her unrepentantly.

“You love us anyway.”

“I don't even know why.”

“Because we are funny and adorable and amazing? Because we put up with your nagging?”

He received another cuff and then the three of them sniggered.

“Honestly.” Hermione rolled her eyes in amused exasperation. “Do what you want. But don't you dare take responsibility for everything that happened in this war. You did your part. Let the rest of us pick up the pieces.”

“She's right, you know. You got rid of V-Voldemort. Nobody has the right to demand anything else from you. Don't let them,” Ron added seriously.

“I know,” Harry said and huffed indignantly at the twin sceptical gazes he received for his trouble. “I do! I mean—” he interrupted himself and looked around. “'Mione, cast a _Muffliato_ , will you? And make sure there is no one listening in on us.”

She did as he asked and Harry was relieved to notice that there were no eavesdroppers present.

“I won't—I won't be staying. I mean—” Harry struggled with the wording but finally simply blurted it out. “I need to look for Thunder. My duty is done, and I don't really want to be subjected to the awe and pressure of the whole wizarding community. I want to finally meet my soulmate and I—I just—I want to finally live for myself. For the first time in my life,” he confessed vulnerably.

Hermione hugged him again and even Ron showed his affection physically by putting a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“I—we get it,” he said after a moment. “You don't need to worry, we'll take care of things on this end. You'll be left alone.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight. Do you have my Cloak?” Hermione nodded and took it out of the little bottomless bag she still carried. Then she looked at it thoughtfully before she nodded and determinedly started pulling out several more things. She handed those to Ron before giving both the Cloak and the bag to Harry, who looked at her searchingly.

“Take it,” she said, tone unmoving. Harry knew her well enough to understand that her mind was made and that wouldn't be changed. “You'll need it more than me.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, and then his voice shook. “I—I'll miss you, guys.”

Ron smiled. “We'll miss you, too. But—you're going to visit, right? For Christmas, at least. Mum will kill you if you don't.”

Harry smiled weakly. “Yeah, I will.”

“Bring your Thunder, too, all right? We want to meet him. Make sure he treats you right.”

“Sure thing.”

“And… visit Andy before you leave? She's taking custody of Teddy now that…” Hermione gulped. “She'll want to see you. You should at least let her know why you are leaving, and say goodbye.”

“Yeah. I will. Thank you.”

It was a little bit awkward, a little bit tense. Harry supposed it was fine, because nobody had prepared him for this particular moment, for this departure that seemed so final. It wasn't, he knew. He would see them again, he just needed—

He just needed out. For some time. Find Lambo; find _himself_.

He forced a smile and tried to engage his two best friends in light-hearted conversation. It started awkwardly but it soon developed into something more natural and, when Ron and Hermione were shooed out of the infirmary an hour later, he was able to say his last goodbyes with a true smile.

 

* * *

**13 – Last Minute Preparations**

* * *

 

There was a pop, not much different from the sound of a car backfiring. It was sudden and unexpected, but nobody really took notice of the disturbance except from a startled cat, which hissed angrily and hurried away from the source of the loud noise.

Under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry made his way through the silent Leaky Cauldron and towards the back, being careful not to disturb anything as he went.

It was one in the morning. The city was quiet, its inhabitants mostly asleep—at least the wizarding kind. Some muggle pubs were still open, catering to small groups of friends or the rare loner who desperately needed a drink even if it was only early Wednesday.

Harry had made his escape from the Infirmary around midnight, after he was sure Madam Pomphrey was deep asleep. He had taken some clothes from Hermione's bag—now his, he supposed—and dressed warmly before putting on his Cloak. He had to be careful sneaking out and bypassing the patrolling Aurors and Order members; he couldn't be caught. If he was, it would complicate his plans too much—not to mention that he would be wasting precious time.

He had made his way out of Hogwarts through the Honeydukes passageway, and from there he had apparated to Charing's Cross.

If he was going to disappear, he needed money. And muggle documentation. He was just praying that the Goblins would not eject him from the bank on sight. Hopefully, offering to foot the bills for the repairs would be enough to put himself back in their good graces—or as good as any wizard could be in the graces of the Goblin race, which usually meant 'tolerable enough to do business with you'.

As he had expected, once he took off his Cloak and was noticeable to the guards, he was immediately surrounded and held at lance point. He received multiple sneers but was saved from their fury when a powerful voice interrupted.

“Lord Potter,” the Goblin said almost amicably, if one could ignore the demanding, scornful tone. “Accompany me to my office,” he ordered before he turned on his heels and hurried away.

Knowing that questioning the order was not one of the most intelligent things he could do at the moment, Harry wisely took the opportunity to sneak away from the still hatefully sneering guards and followed his Goblin rescuer.

“My name is Ironfist,” he said after guiding Harry into an office and ordering him to take a seat, “and I'm the Potters' and Blacks' account manager. There are some things that need to be straightened out _immediately._ ”

Harry gulped but determinedly asked what was needed of him.

He spent a full hour discussing matters of his inheritances—both of them—, reparations to Gringotts for the break in, business investments that he would have to go over once he had the time and more importantly, his need to transfer his assets into a vault in Italy—of course, after having withdrawn a hefty amount of money. He then proceeded to convert some of it into muggle pounds and some into Euros, which was Italy's currency.

“I will also need a muggle passport and identification,” he said seriously, and Ironfist inclined his head in acceptance before scrawling a few lines with his long Hippogriff quill.

“That will be ten Galleons if you want them enchanted.”

“Take it from my vaults together with the reparation money.”

The Goblin nodded and added the final words in his book. He then put the quill down.

“Come back in an hour. Everything will have been completed by then.”

“Thank you,” Harry said honestly, bowing politely to the account manager. The Goblin sneered disdainfully and waved him out of the room.

As he made his way out of the bank, Harry received distrustful stares and wicked, menacing glares but was not detained again, for which he was deeply thankful.

He had an hour to kill—he might as well fulfil his promise to Hermione and visit Andromeda and little Teddy.

Mind made, he apparated on the spot and then walked quickly towards the Tonks' home, feeling a bit nostalgic as he approached it. The deaths of most of its inhabitants weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Suddenly, Harry felt that he was intruding, that he wouldn't be welcomed inside, and he seriously contemplated the thought of just turning back and going literally anywhere else but there. Before he could act on it though, Andy was opening the door, sleepy but wary and more than ready to hex the unannounced guest into oblivion. Harry guessed that the wards had alerted her of his presence, and he berated himself in his mind for having forgotten that wizards and witches usually lived in houses with at least some measure of magical security.

“Harry?” She asked, puzzled, once she had a good look at him.

“Hi, Andy,” he said tentatively.

“Harry, is two in the morning. What in Morgana's name is wrong with you?” She asked exasperatedly but with a warm smile as she put away her wand and invited him in.

“Sorry, it's just—” Andy ushered him into the living room and made him take a seat, retreating into the kitchen before Harry could even finish his sentence. She came back soon enough with a tea tray—even if it was really early, Andromeda Tonks was a proper lady who would treat his guests right.

Harry smiled sheepishly as he accepted a cup, and then he started explaining what was happening and why he was leaving. Andy smiled sadly, but admitted with raw honesty that she understood. She understood completely. She said that Harry would forever be welcome in her house, at least as long as he promised that he'll visit them the moment he had Floo connection installed in his new home. (She may have also said that he would better be starting to warm up to the idea of getting Teddy at least for the weekends when the boy became a little older. She was his grandma and she loved him but raising a toddler again, alone? She was much too old to take up the parent role.)

Harry accepted her conditions whole-heartedly. Andy laughed.

“I should be going,” he said apologetically after a while. “Can I see Teddy before—”

“Sure, come with me.”

Harry followed the witch upstairs to the baby's room. It was painted a cheerful yellow, bright and full of energy. It reminded Harry of Tonks, and he smiled. Teddy was sleeping soundly on his crib, fine baby hair a blinding magenta. Harry approached silently and looked him over for about minute, then bent down and placed a soft kiss over his little godson's brow. The baby frowned adorably at the contact and Harry resisted the urge to chuckle. After a last glance, he turned back and walked out of the room.

He said goodbye to Andromeda and went back to Gringotts.

(It was time to go home.)

 

* * *

**14 – Heathrow**

* * *

 

Harry smiled crookedly at Ironfist, giving his honest thanks as he secured his new cards inside his wallet. The Goblin gave him a not so hateful sneer in return, which Harry counted as a step in the right direction. He then bowed slightly in respect before turning on his heel and getting out of the bank.

It was still very early—about half past three—and the city was quiet. After pocketing his wallet with his new identification and muggle passport, Harry quickly donned his Invisibility Cloak once more and hurried through the Alley into muggle London. Caution was best—even if he didn't believe any wizard was up and about to witness his movements, he'd rather not risk it. Not when freedom was so close he could almost taste it.

Just in case, he walked down three blocks on Charing Cross, slipped into an alleyway and only then did he take off his Cloak. He patted his hair and straightened his muggle clothes—a jacket over his last Weasley jumper, blue jeans and scruffy black trainers—, checked that his recently withdrawn pounds were easily accessible, and then he stepped out of his temporary hiding spot.

He waited a few minutes until he spotted an empty taxi and called it over.

“Where to, lad?” Asked the driver, who was a man in his late forties with a balding head and a grey but healthy moustache.

“Heathrow airport,” Harry answered succinctly as he sat in the back and closed the door. The driver nodded and the car started moving.

“Want to take a nap? Thirty five minutes, maybe less 'cause there isn't much traffic—I'll wake you up once we're there,” he suggested.

“Ah… Thank you.” Harry smiled lopsidedly. “I don't know if I'll be able to, but I'll try,” he said, and while it was certainly something he needed, he didn't believe he would be able to. He was still too hyped up, too tense to do so—not yet, at least.

Half an hour later, he paid the taxi driver with a smile and a nice tip as they reached the entrance to Heathrow airport. Quietly, Harry ambled around trying to understand the layout of the place and to locate the spot where tickets were sold. He finally found the counter fifteen minutes later—which embarrassed him to no end because it was literally _there_ , right in front of the entrance so _why hadn't he noticed it?_ He was totally blaming his exhaustion for that overshight—and bought a ticket for the first available flight to Palermo.

It was there, in Sicily, where Vongola headquarters were located—and where Thunder _(Lambo, his name is Lambo)_ had been living for about three years together with his family. Harry just hoped that he would be able to find them relatively soon.

He sighed and pocketed his ticket after his passport had been checked and his seat booked. There was not much movement around him—only a café and a book store were open at that hour, at least that he could see.

His plane left at 07:25 am and it was barely a quarter past four, so he had three more hours to go before he could board. He sat in one of the benches in the departure lounge and got himself comfortable. He soon fell asleep—which was not too surprising, honestly. He had been bedridden for three whole days with a case of exhaustion both magical and from lack of sleep, not to mention malnutrition. He had not been even slightly approaching recovered when he had left, so it was no wonder that the tiredness had finally caught up with him.

He was startled awake at six, when a plane landed and its passengers disembarked noisily. Many of them had faces that screamed they had just been woken up and desired nothing else than to get to their lodgings and go right back to sleep. Some others were the complete opposite: they looked hyped and utterly excited to have finally arrived at their destination. It was the latter group who was making the most noise, chatting loudly and dragging their luggage without much thought to the racket they were causing.

Harry huffed and rubbed his face tiredly, deciding that there was no reason for him to try to fall asleep again. He stood up and marched into the café, bought a cup of espresso and then decided to go looking for his check point. During his leisure search, he stumbled upon a modern-looking store that had just opened for the day and he brightened when an idea occurred to him. Maybe—

He entered the shop and looked around. The salesman asked what was he looking for and Harry was honest as he answered.

“I'm looking for a mobile. One that will work for Italy. That's all I really care about.”

They leafed through a catalogue and he was shown some of the possible models available—and Harry was astounded as he noticed they were much smaller than the ones he remembered. The one he recalled Uncle Vernon having bought for his company had been much bulkier than those that were on sale now.

He finally decided on one in black and the sales guy was friendly enough as he instructed him in how to work it out. _(“_ _Y_ _ou'll want to charge it before using it_ _—_ _well, soon anyway. I guess it will work for a while but then you definitely have to charge it.”)_

Harry had barely paid and thanked the man for his help when there was an announcement for passengers of his flight to check in and board. He hurried and passed the check-in without trouble, seeing as he didn't have luggage except from his girly handbag—which had a mild muggle repellent charm on it that made it possible for him to pass through without any officer trying to peek inside.

He showed his boarding card and got into the plane.

Harry had a seat in business class, which gave him a little bit of privacy while not being too expensive. He found his seat and got comfortable, waiting for the plane to take off.

Once in the air, the stewardess informed them that it was possible to use their mobiles. Harry startled and worried his lip, wondering if he should make his call now or wait until he reached Italy. He finally decided that the sooner he did it, the better, so he fumbled with his bag in search of a particular piece of parchment that he had stuck inside his Transfiguration book. He found it after some minutes of unsuccessful search and took it out victoriously.

He pulled the short list of phone numbers from inside chapter five and looked it over with a frown. Two numbers were scrawled there in his messy handwriting. Harry took a deep breath and called the first number.

The phone rang… And rang… And rang.

Nothing.

He tried two more times before giving up. Huffing, he looked at the second (and last) number. If this didn't work—

Harry dialled.

The phone rang.

 

* * *

**15 – Unexpected**

* * *

 

Twenty four-years-old Sawada Tsunayoshi was certainly not expecting a call at eight forty in the morning, not one which didn't came from his business phone, at least.

He was annoyed because he had been dreaming peacefully—a rare occurrence lately, to be perfectly honest. Sleep had not been coming easy to the inhabitants of the Vongola Mansion since the interrupted meeting four days ago.

The entirety of the household was tired but too worked up to rest. Most of their resources had been focused on Britain and its recent whereabouts, waiting for the piece of the puzzle that would bring closure to the mystery of what had happened to his Lightning Guardian's soulmate.

The lack of information was making them all twitchy.

There was nothing they could find that announced Harry Potter's death.

And he was dead—there was no doubt about it. Lambo had felt their connection snap; he had learned his bonded's full name without ever getting to know him face to face. He no longer could hear his voice in his mind.

Harry was dead, there was no doubt. He was dead, and Lambo was a complete mess.

(And dammit if Tsuna was not feeling guilty about it now. He had denied Lambo's requests to look for Harry and bring him home too many times to count. Yes, he had had the best intentions in mind when he had done it—after all, the simple idea of bringing a civilian into the bloody word of the Mafia before Vongola's new regime was implemented was ridiculously dangerous, but bringing the _civilian_ _soulmate of one of the Boss' Guardians_ was even more so.

But he wondered now if he shouldn't have simply said _'fuck it all'_ and worry about protecting Harry from enemies of the Mafia once he was safely pulled away from the Wizarding World. Because honestly, what was the point of trying to protect the wizard from the Mafia when he was in constant danger inside his own world?

Tsuna believed that it was partly his fault, because he had not realized how serious and how direct was the threat to Harry's person in the ongoing conflicts. He had been blinded by his ignorance, by his mistaken belief that a single teen could not be in that much danger when the problem he was facing was the problem of a whole community.

He had been stupid, he knew that now.

Why hadn't he realized that there was no exaggeration at all? After all—Tsuna himself had been in the centre of a huge problem not too long ago. He had been that simple, seemingly unimportant teen who had to pick up the weight of the world and pull it up to keep it going—so why couldn't Harry?

The biggest difference was that Tsuna had his Family to help him back then. The boy? Tsuna had no idea.

And now he was dead.

He was dead before Lambo was able to meet him. He was dead before Tsuna could make good on his promise and take him out of his relatives' house. He was dead—and Tsuna could not take out of his mind the thought that if they had say 'fuck it' to the dangers of the Mafia and taken Harry in, if they had simply tried their best to protect the boy until he was completely capable of taking care of himself then maybe—maybe he wouldn't be dead now.

Maybe he would be sleeping four doors down the corridor, in Lambo's room—to the absolute horror of Hayato, probably, and high levels of amusement from the rest of the group. And maybe there would be laughter and chaos because he had the feeling that if he had let them be, those two would have completely destroyed the mansion in prank wars that would have drawn in every single one of his guardians. Maybe—

But thinking about _what ifs_ only made him feel bitter.

Because Harry was dead, and imagining what could have been would not change that.)

Sleepy but now sporting the mother of all headaches, Tsuna squinted at the caller ID and wondered who the fuck was calling him at that hour to his private number—his business phone was the one he had been expecting to ring, if any had the reason to. He fumbled with the piece of Flame technology and swore as he took too long and the call disconnected.

He flopped back on his bed and rubbed his eyes, pondering the benefits of simply going back to sleep—something he didn't think he would be able to do—but then, barely two minutes later, the phone rang again.

“ _Moshi moshi?_ _”_ He answered in Japanese, almost unconsciously. It was his personal phone, after all, and even when his Italian and English were quite good, he still felt more comfortable speaking in his native tongue informally. He had thought, perhaps with good reason, that if somebody was calling his personal number then they must be an acquaintance at least and so the person on the other side must speak Japanese.

“Ah—Hi. Um, _Ohayou gozaimasu?”_ The slightly tinned voice answered tentatively. Tsuna frowned. The caller was obviously male, young, and spoke with a noticeable English accent. “Sorry, my Japanese is not that good—not that my Italian is much better, but—Ah. Sorry. I called because—well, I mean—”

“Who's calling?” Tsuna asked diplomatically but amused, in English even when it was not his best language.

“Ah—sorry,” the teenager apologized sheepishly from the other end of the line. He coughed, embarrassed, before continuing. “I'm—I'm Harry Potter.”

All amusement died a swift death as soon as Tsuna processed what the boy had said.

His first thought was a loud _IMPOSSIBLE,_ and he almost—almost snapped angrily at the phone and insulted the person on the other side to kingdom come because Harry Potter could _not_ be calling, because Harry Potter was dead, dead, _dead_ _—_

(Except—

Except they hadn't found a single piece of news, a single comment anywhere about the boy's death and surely—surely, it would have been announced. His parents' had been, after all, even when they had been murdered by a wizard in a wizarding home and under wizarding jurisdiction. Even then, there had been a note in the mundane's newspaper, not to mention death certificates for both Lily and James Potter—though the cause of their death was listed as a gas explosion.

But there was nothing about Harry.

Why?)

“Are you—please tell me that you are Tsuna-nii. I really need to know that I'm not wrong. I need to talk to Thunder—to Lambo, but I tried his phone already and he does not pick up and I didn't know what else I could do but to call you, but if you are not Tsuna then you must think I'm crazy and I'm sorry—”

Tsuna gaped uncomprehendingly while the other person—Harry, but how was that possible?—babbled on the phone with increasing nervousness. But then the boy was about to disconnect the call again and Tsuna reacted.

“Wait!” He exclaimed loudly, hurriedly—because this could be a scam but it could be true—and he _needed to know._ “I am! I am Tsuna. Please—Harry. Harry, tell me what happened the fifth of October of 1994?” It was a security question, something that only Lambo, Harry and Tsuna himself had been aware of. If this was indeed Harry, then—

“The fifth—? Oh my _God_ , why would you—” the teen sputtered. “Nii-san! That was—why are you bringing _that_ up?”

“Answer the question, kid,” Tsuna insisted, fighting down both a smile and a blush. I had been embarrassing for all three of them—even when Harry had not been present. It had been necessary, though. Tsuna knew it was not really his place, it should have been done by the boys' parents—but neither had them, and Tsuna was not sure it was a good idea to let his mother do the talking. Nana _could_ have explained it to Lambo, but Tsuna vividly remembered her disastrous attempt when he had just entered puberty—he was somewhat glad that Reborn had noticed his complete lack of information about it when he arrived and proceeded to fill in the blanks (even if those _had_ been some of the most horrifying tutoring sessions in his entire life.)

“But—! _Fine._ You had 'The Talk' with us,” the boy said, embarrassment obvious in his tone.

“Mmm—Where are you, Harry?” _Why_ _aren't you dead?_ He didn't ask.

“I'm in a plane to Palermo—I'm scheduled to arrive at—wait, time difference. Mmm—three more hours. The plane just launched.” Tsuna brightened a bit. Even though he still couldn't be sure that this was not a scam, his Intuition was not detecting any lie or warning sign with this exchange—if anything, it was vibrating with excitement. He needed to see for himself, he needed to talk to this boy himself—and if he was indeed who he said he was, then a whole lot of suffering would soon come to an end.

“I will pick you up,” he offered amicably—though it was not really an offer, more of a statement of fact. Almost an order. “Give me a description of how you look, so that I'm able to recognize you when you arrive.”

“Oh! Alright, um—messy black hair. Green eyes. Round glasses. Blue jeans and a red jumper with a big golden H embroidered on the front. No luggage.”

“Alright, see you then,” Tsuna said shortly and cut off the call.

He rubbed his face again as he stared at the mobile without really seeing it. He felt like he could trust his gut but he couldn't—wouldn't—inform the grieving Lambo about this until he was one hundred percent sure.

(He could not risk giving him hope only to have to cruelly take it away later.)

 

* * *

**16 – First Impressions**

* * *

 

The plane arrived on time and Harry made his way down the platform with butterflies flapping madly inside his stomach.

He was there.

After years of imagining, longing, believing it impossible, finally, finally—he was there. He was in Italy, he was about to meet his soulmate's family. (A family that, even if he hadn't yet met them personally, he considered to be his family, too.)

Once he was free from check ups and customs, his gaze swept over the lounge area and immediately focused on a small group loitering near the doors. Even if it consisted only of four young males, they were rather distinctive—all four wore expensive clothing and had a dignified air, a pressuring aura that pushed people away without their notice.

Silver hair, marked scowl—Gokudera Hayato was glaring suspiciously at every single person that passed near the group. At his right, Yamamoto Takeshi was smiling. This was not a surprise in itself. Harry knew that Takeshi was naturally good-humoured and quick to smile. It was the rather chilling, dangerous quality of that smile what was surprising. A few steps behind them, a man with long blue hair held up in a ponytail was lurking around a younger-looking brunet with fluffy hair. Mukuro. Tsuna.

The butterflies morphed into nervous hypogriffs and suddenly Harry felt that he was completely unprepared, completely out of his depth.

He didn't feel like he could take another step towards this group, this family (a family that was his, it was his but he didn't know them, they didn't know him and… wow, that was just so messed up wasn't it?). He felt like he didn't _belong._

But ignoring his doubts completely, his feet continued their path towards them even as his nerves grew.

Suddenly, sharp brown eyes with a tint of orange were focused on him and Harry stumbled.

He had been discovered; he was being assessed. Harry felt himself turn pale and start sweating.

He couldn't breathe.

The other three men noticed their boss' attention focusing and turned towards him as one, and the heavy weight of four scrutinizing eyes over his person was not helping Harry's state of mind or his ability to feed oxygen into his lungs at all.

And then, what felt like ages later, Tsuna's eyes softened and a warm, inviting smile stretched across his face and Harry could breathe again. He crossed the short distance that still separated them and then he stopped, uncomfortably aware of his scruffy looks—he felt so out of place!

“Um. Hi. I'm—I'm Harry,” he said awkwardly and he mentally raged. Why couldn't he be more suave for once in his life? Why did everything have to be so awkward for him? What kind of impression must he be making?

“Hello, Harry,” Tsuna replied softly, and then his smile turned a bit sheepish. He gestured with his hand towards the three Guardians that accompanied him. “I tried to sneak out and come here by myself, but—”

“That's fine,” Harry reassured quickly and sent the other three a small smile. “I was expecting it, anyway. I know that they prefer to be with you whenever they can, especially if the situation is uncertain,” he explained at Gokudera's narrowed-eye look. Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Honestly, if a supposed dead kid suddenly called my friend and said that he wanted to meet him, I'd want to go with him and make sure he's not in trouble, too.”

Yamamoto's smile lost its sharp edge and became more honest at this, Mukuro laughed discreetly—Harry had to make an effort not to gape at the fact that his laugh was actually as strange and creepy as Thunder had described it—and even though Gokudera did not stop glaring, Harry felt more at ease. (Gokudera was naturally suspicious of everyone, and Harry knew this, so it didn't bother him as much as the other's defensiveness did.)

“Indeed, that's a rather good point,” a deep voice said from behind Harry and the boy almost jumped out of his skin. He swivelled around and came face-to-chest with an imposing man wearing a yellow shirt beneath a black suit and a black tie. He looked up and the first thing he noticed were the curly—incredibly, impossibly curly—sideburns. Then, the distinctive fedora. Black eyes scrutinized him carefully and a slight smirk curved the man's lips. This was Reborn—nobody else could fit that description. “And I, for one, am glad that you appear to have at least some measure of intelligence behind those dorky glasses. I hope that you agree with me when I said that we need to continue this heart-warming reunion somewhere else, mmm?” The hitman said in a rather mocking tone, and that too was something characteristic of the man, at least going by Thunder's description.

Harry didn't bother wondering why hadn't he seen the man before he appeared behind him—there was no need. Reborn was not the World's Greatest Hitman for nothing. If he didn't want to be seen, he simply wouldn't be.

Harry gulped.

“Yes,” he acquiesced as gracefully as he could.

(If he squeaked a bit and that caused Reborn's smirk to grow, well—he wasn't acknowledging it.)

 

* * *

**17 – Interrogation**

* * *

 

They blindfolded him.

He could not say he was surprised by that.

Honestly, he knew these people, even if it was indeed the first time he met them face to face. They were Mafia. And not only that, they were the leaders of the most powerful Famiglia in the Italian Mafia—which was kind of royalty, Harry guessed.

They were paranoid, and they had every reason to be.

So Harry did not voice any kind of complaint when Gokudera took his bag and his wallet, or when immediately after getting into the car he had been lead into, Yamamoto took off his glasses and wrapped a dark cloth over his eyes. (He considered it moot point, actually, because without his glasses he was as blind as a newborn kitten but, as he stated before, he understood.)

The ride was silent. Tense—even if it was not easily distinguishable. The silence was oppressive, especially because Harry knew it was rather abnormal—Gokudera should have been snapping irritated at Yamamoto, the latter should have been laughing without worries, and Mukuro should have been making everyone feel uncomfortable with his particular brand of humour.

Harry tried not to fidget as he felt the assessing stare of a pair of eyes—or maybe multiple pairs of eyes, he couldn't be sure. He didn't believe he had much success in that department.

The car turned several times and Harry, who had no idea where he was originally, was further lost. In a different country. With people who didn't trust him. Alone.

He suddenly had the hysterical urge to laugh—and that was the first indicator that told him he was losing the battle against his nerves. He found the situation utterly ridiculous, and he knew he should have been more worried about his safety, his life, but the truth was… He trusted these people. He trusted them completely, with every fibre of his being even when he knew he shouldn't. Harry knew it in a primal sense, as if a basic instinct was insisting that he was safe, actually completely safe for the first time in _years—_

The car pulled up finally, after minutes or hours or days, Harry couldn't be sure. (It was curious how, deprived of his sight, he couldn't really make sense of the passage of time.)

Harry felt the loss of weight as the other passengers got out of the vehicle, and then he was being gently pulled out of it and guided away. They walked in silence for some time, and Harry felt inevitably curious about the new sounds around him. Doors opening, people walking, the swish of leaves being rattled by the wind. There were steps—his, his guards', and many others. The hushed murmurs of people—domestic service, perhaps, if he was right and he had been moved into Headquarters.

(He knew that Vongola Headquarters was a Mansion, with maids and cooks and numerous guest quarters, plus the Main Family's section.)

He was taken by the elbow and warned about the stairs. Then they were descending and Harry was grateful to whoever was helping him down, because he stumbled a couple of times and he would have probably rolled down and met the floor with a kiss if it weren't for their supporting hand.

Down… Were they going to the dungeons? Maybe holding cells—or interrogation rooms. It made sense.

Then someone pushed open a door and Harry was guided inside a room and manhandled onto a chair. Then his helper retired and Harry was left completely alone.

Interrogation, then.

(Hopefully everything was going to go fine for once in his life.)

After a while, the door opened again and he was joined by another presence.

“I'm going to take the blindfold. Don't do anything stupid,” a voice that Harry recognized as Reborn's warned, and Harry stayed quiet. He waited until his eyes were uncovered and he had his glasses back on his nose before lifting an eyebrow in a silent demand for Reborn to get on with it already.

The man lifted an eyebrow right back at him in bemusement and proceeded to drop Harry's bag over the table, right in front of him.

“We couldn't open it,” Reborn stated. It was a question, an order and a demand, all disguised in the form of a statement. Harry couldn't help it—he snorted.

“Of course you can't,” he snarked, “it's protected against thievery; not to mention it has a muggle repellent charm added. I'm surprised you even saw it—well, if anything, it proves that Magic and Flames cannot be that different after all,” he mused, getting slightly off track before remembering the situation. “But that's not the point. Only I can open it and safely take something from it,” he declared, thought that was not exactly true. Hermione and Ron both could, too, but they were not present and so Harry considered it to be something irrelevant. To demonstrate, Harry stuck his hand inside the bag and was about to pull something from inside—probably his Cloak, he was not really sure—when the cold metal of a gun was suddenly pressed upon his brow.

Harry huffed, part in indignation, part in surprise, and slowly retracted his hand without having taken anything from inside the bag. The gun was not removed from his person until he had given it back and Reborn had put it aside. Only then was the weapon lowered and Harry could partly relax.

“Harry Potter died,” the hitman said with detached certainty. Harry would have been hurt at the apparent lack of concern in the flat statement if he hadn't have some insight (even as sketchy as Lambo's insight could be) into the man's character. “He is dead. You, on the other hand… You are alive.”

“Mmm…” Harry conceded. He cocked his head and tapped the table's surface with one of his fingers. “That's because I did die,” he explained. Then he decided to elaborate. “For about seven minutes, I think. But then I came back.”

Dark eyes narrowed to slits.

“Explain,” he was ordered.

And Harry complied.

 

* * *

**18 – Veredict**

* * *

 

Reborn watched the boy with a keen eye, studying and analyzing every gesture, measuring every word.

“Then the Snatchers started hunting down those who pronounced the taboo…”

The boy was not lying. It would have been too intricate, too complex. Designing and sticking to a story with so many details and keeping it coherent was not easy, not to mention remembering all the small scattered details that could be picked up throughout the retelling of the complete story. Those also coincided with things Reborn had been told first hand by the stupid cow, and were not something that just anyone was privy to.

Minute twitching of mouth and eyes and general body language conveyed the boy's feelings clearly as he narrated what had happened since before Lambo and him had stopped talking, and until the very end. It was too raw, too honest. Not even the best of actors could have pulled it off as well as he did, had he been lying after all.

But the questions Reborn made and the way they were answered were enough to stop that train of thoughts on its tracks.

(And to be honest, Reborn had been more than half-way convinced that this teen was indeed Harry Potter when Dame-Tsuna's intuition had not protested the claim. This was more for formalities' sake, not to mention some curiosity on everyone's part, before the boy was completely assimilated into the Family.)

It was at the end of his tale when Harry finally broke down. Reborn had been expecting it, and he was surprised that it had taken him that long to do so.

He was unable to give many details, and not for lack of trying, but simply because he hadn't really had the time to process what had happened to him, not completely. Everything had gone way too fast—his surrender, his death, his waking up on hospital and almost immediately sneaking out and uprooting himself to travel to a foreign country when the only thing he wanted to do was to finally meet his soulmate.

Reborn could see the exhaustion in his young face, tinged with regret and sadness that contrasted sharply with so much _hope_.

He glanced towards the false mirror to where he knew Tsuna and the Guardians were observing them and signalled with a tiny movement of his head that the boy was completely cleared.

Almost immediately, the door opened and the Vongola Boss appeared, smiling softly and reassuringly as he spoke directly to Harry.

“That is more than enough, I think. I'm glad to finally be able to meet you, Harry. We've missed you, even if this is the first time we are actually able to see you,” he said honestly.

“I—I missed you too, all of you. But, uh—can I—can I see Lambo now, please?”

“Sorry, Harry. But I think it's best if you go to sleep for now, after having something to eat. It's midnight already, and you are dead on your feet.”

“But—!”

“You will see Lambo first thing in the morning. I promise.”

Harry accepted grumpily and got to his feet but before he could even take a single step, he collapsed. Reborn, who was the one closer to him, caught him before he kissed the floor. Tsuna looked alarmed.

“He's fine, he just passed out,” the hitman said with dry amusement. He hooked one arm around Harry's back and one under his knees and lifted him bridal style. He frowned. “He's too light.”

“He hasn't eaten well for a long time,” Tsuna reminded him, concern plain in his voice. “Should we wake him up? He really needs to eat something,” he worried.

Reborn thought it over carefully. “No,” he said finally after a short huff. “He's not only physically but also emotionally exhausted. I don't think he could manage to eat anything even if he were awake. I say we put him in bed and let him sleep. He can have a good breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Before or after he goes looking for Lambo?” Tsuna asked as they left the room. Reborn ignored the hushed discussion between Hayato and Takeshi with the ease of practice, but he did notice the former had red eyes and the latter had relaxed his shoulders. Mukuro was nowhere to be seen, but if the spike of killer intent he had felt at one point during the interrogation was anything to go by, Reborn supposed that the Mist had retired into a training room to work out his anger. (Or perhaps he had gone hunting. Reborn kind of hoped it was the last option, and that Mukuro had gone for the Dursleys. Though he was conflicted, as he would like to take part in it, too.)

Reborn snorted, “If you honestly believe that we could even attempt to stop him from seeing Lambo first thing after he wakes up, you need more training in reading people, Dame-Tsuna,” he said scathingly.

Tsuna laughed with good humour.

“That's what I thought.”

 

* * *

**19 – Reconnect**

* * *

 

Lambo woke up slowly.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn and keeping the sun from peeking inside. Nothing apart from his soft, rhythmic breathing could be heard. He blinked up at the ceiling and then kept staring at it impassively.

He didn't feel any different.

(Not from yesterday, not from the day before.)

If anything, he felt empty.

It had been three days since the last time he had mustered up enough energy to leave the bed for anything more than going to the bathroom. Not even hunger motivated him enough to get out of the room, so his family had taken to bring him food to bed, even when he really didn't feel like eating. (He hadn't finished a single meal they had brought him. He simply couldn't make himself eat more than a couple of mouthfuls before feeling sick.)

He was realizing that he didn't care any more.

Lightning—Harry, his Harry, Harry who he shouldn't be able to call by his name yet because he shouldn't have died, because he shouldn't have known it until the day they met, so why did he, why—wouldn't have wanted him to take his own life, and Lambo knew, even in his grief, that doing so would break his family's hearts, so he had not tried. (He had considered it, though very briefly, in those few minutes right after learning his soulmate's name.)

He was not sure what he wanted to do now—or if he even _wanted_ to do anything now that there was so much silence in his head, and no breathless hope and excitement for the future—a future he had been looking forwards to sharing with his Lightning.

The dull ache in his chest was but an echo of the tearing agony he had lived with the first few hours during his denial phase. He had felt then that his world was breaking apart, that the universe should have been imploding into itself and erasing everything from existence because it was simply not possible that everything continued being when his soulmate was dead. So it had been only logical to conclude that he was still alive.

But then the silence had persisted, and denial gave way to anger.

(Lambo broke a training room apart.)

He had blamed every single person of his predicament—Tsuna, the guardians, Voldemort, Harry, the wizarding world, life, himself. He had activated his Flames and his Box Weapon and demolished the training room completely, but it hadn't felt even remotely near enough and soon he was goading the others into fighting him. It was harsh and bruising and blood had been shed, but it had done its job. Lambo fought and raged until he simply dropped down, utterly exhausted.

Then he cried.

He had cried and lamented and thought “If only.”

He had cried until the tears wouldn't come any more.

Then apathy settled, and so did his complete disregard for his own well being.

(He knew he was worrying everyone, but he couldn't help it. He felt so terrifyingly _empty._ _)_

There was a knock on his door, but Lambo ignored it. It must have been Chrome, or perhaps Shoichi bringing him breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

(He was not sure. He had lost track of the days. He honestly didn't care.)

He didn't move, and expected whoever it was to get the hint and leave him alone. The knock came again, though, and he frowned. Nonetheless, he still didn't felt like moving or interacting with anybody, so Lambo simply ignored it and continued staring at the ceiling.

Five minutes later, the knocking stopped, and Lambo figured they had given up—finally.

But he was proven wrong when the door opened with a crack. He scowled but promptly smoothed out his expression, closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Hopefully, they'd leave the food on his bedside table and then retreat.

The curtains were opened brusquely and sun spilled down on his face, proving Lambo wrong.

He was somewhat glad that he had his eyes closed or the sudden brightness might have rendered him blind. His mind wondered who the fuck was being so nosy, and supposed it must have been Gokudera, tired of Lambo's moping. But he wouldn't give! He was going to stay in bed, and whoever wanted to make him do otherwise could go fuck themselves.

Soft steps approached him almost silently, and the person who had decided to invade his privacy stopped right beside the bed, close to Lambo's face. The teen was about to growl out an expletive and not-so-kindly ask them to _fuck off_ _and leave_ _him_ _alone_ when there was a sharp, breathless gasp, and suddenly a trembling hand was moving the bangs away from his eyes and Lambo… didn't understand what was happening. He suddenly realized that he couldn't recognize the sounds of the steps or the aura of this person, so who—

He snapped his eyes open and found himself staring at twin pools of emerald green behind a round pair of ugly glasses.

His mind went suddenly blank. The only thing he was sure about was that both himself and the intruder were utterly surprised, as it was noticeable in the widening of those eyes and the reflection of Lambo's in them.

Then like a flash, like a sudden discharge of electricity, something slammed on his psyche. There was a fizz and a crack, and then there was noise in his mind again—there was a voice there.

He had a splitting headache and he felt faint and tired and completely disoriented, but—

He was coherent enough to understand that something impossible had just happened.

The connection was back.

(Lambo was aware enough to notice the sudden weight of a body slamming onto him before everything went black.)

 

* * *

**20 – Hope**

* * *

 

Lambo woke up slowly, comfortably aware of the sun caressing his skin, the warm body encased in his arms and the soft humming sound in the back of his mind.

His head hurt still, but the pain was muted and forgetting about it was easy when he had other things—much more important things—to focus on.

There was a presence in his mind, unobtrusive but distinctly _there_ , and he felt hope and happiness and elation soar in his chest, because he had thought it had been lost forever, because he had thought he would never hear it again.

But there it was.

Humming softly, content and non coherent in a way that Lambo had learned to understand that its owner was asleep and having good, peaceful dreams.

The boy did not really want to open his eyes and risk the dream ending, but he needed to make sure. He needed to know that it was true, that he was in fact holding his soulmate in his arms as he believed he was, and not simply being delusional.

Slowly, dark green eyes were revealed and then they focused on the mop of dark hair snugly tucked away beneath his chin.

Lambo's breath caught in his throat.

His thinking must have been very loud because the teen that had been sleeping on his chest mumbled incoherently and then moved, bracing himself with an arm on Lambo's side to incorporate and be able to see him. Foggy green eyes blinked groggily at him behind crooked glasses as the teen scrunched up his nose. Lambo's heart was beating wildly inside his ribcage as he had the first proper look at that face. Angular chin, slightly crooked smile. Lightning bolt scar.

The apparition gave him a questioning look before his expression softened into a warm, shy smile. “Hi,” he said softly, lifting one arm from the bed and moving it towards Lambo's face, where it proceeded to trace his features reverently. The British accent was unmistakable even in that small utterance, and Lambo could already feel the tears forming in his tear-ducts. “It's nice to finally meet you in person, my Thunder.”

Lambo's heart skipped a beat, his grip on the other boy tightening as he found himself suddenly crying, desperately happy and impossibly glad, and Harry—his Harry, his Lightning—not only let him do so but hugged him back just as desperately.

“Shh, it's alright. I'm alright. I'm so sorry I worried you, I'm sorry,” he said as he shushed him gently in a choked up tone. “I love you. I love you, I'm sorry.”

Lambo wanted to answer. He wanted to ask things, to demand an explanation, to repeat those words back to him but he was unable to any of those because his mind was drowning in a continuous chant of _“h_ _e's real, he's real, he's real, he's alive_ _ **he's here**_ _”_ , and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

So he clutched Harry closer to him instead, and then he kissed him.

Chaste but lingering, desperate but soft, Lambo kissed Harry as if he had been doing it forever, as if he was doing it for the very first time. Harry made a surprised noise in the back of his throat but then eagerly returned the kiss, clumsy but earnest and filled with so much love it was making Lambo's heart squeeze.

They clung to each other, both crying but happy, basking in the other's presence but afraid that everything would disappear if they let go.

Harry's fingers tangled on the soft hairs on Lambo's nape while Lambo kept both arms around Harry's waist, using them to keep him as close as could. Their chests were pressed together and Lambo could feel both their hearts beating madly but in harmony; he could feel the warmth of the other's body and the roughness of his clothes against his fingertips.

He was there. He was real. He was kissing him.

It was everything Lambo had ever hoped for, and more.

The realization hit, making him cut the kiss short. He looked at the other teen admiringly, and then he laughed at the other's put upon face.

The laugh was breathless, because he didn't really have air to spare, a bit hysterical and still wet by the tears, but it was a bright sound—happy, incredibly happy, and he was not quite sure wheter it was really him the one laughing but then Harry joined in and it didn't matter any more.

The air felt light with hope, the future looking bright for the first time in a long time.

Lambo looked down at his laughing soulmate and couldn't fight down the fond smile.

There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but he refrained. “I love you,” he said instead, and Harry beamed at him. Lambo thought it had to be the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“I love you, too,” Harry answered, stretching a bit from his position to plant a kiss on the corner of Lambo's mouth. Then he frowned slightly and picked up the glasses that had been discarded sometime during their kiss. Eyes now focused, the older teen sat up and looked Lambo over. He pouted. “Why are you taller than me?”

Lambo blinked uncomprehendingly but then it clicked. He couldn't help it, he snorted.

“Hey! I'm being serious here!” Harry exclaimed, but the twitching of his lips belied his words. He smacked Lambo's chest softly in chastisement. “You are fifteen! It's totally unfair!”

“I'm almost sixteen,” Lambo pointed out, amused. “And you are not that much older than me, _prezioso._ ” The endearment flowed out out his mouth without thought, and he didn't regret it for one second.

Being able to witness Harry blush to the root of his hair was well damn worth the slight embarrassment it caused.

 

* * *

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – **Mez'n'Ser** , I'm sorry it didn't turn out as we had discussed? I tried that path and was completely blocked at the middle. I dunno, it sounded forced to me so I changed it (quite a bit). I hope you enjoyed this nevertheless! 
> 
> 2 – The wiki says that Bovino is not Lambo's last name. In fact, it says that Lambo's last name is never revealed. For the sake of simplicity, let's pretend it actually is his last name.
> 
> 3 – Lambo's mum is never really mentioned. So… Grazia is my one and only OC in this, and she has a relatively small role here so I hope you find her believable.
> 
> 4 – I spent… too many hours investigating airports, airlines and cities, times and other random bits of information just so that this felt more real. (The phone, too. Here: [this is Harry's phone.](http://www.mobilephonehistory.co.uk/nokia/nokia_3110.php) It's a 1997 model instead of one of the 'newest' ones, but he liked it better. Ah. I don't really know if they sold mobiles with their batteries charged already back then or anything, so—suspend your disbelief if this is not the case). I feel it's ridiculous but not? And also – I decided that Vongola was in Palermo, Sicily. They never did mention where HQ was located so I chose. 
> 
> 5 – This is **definitely the end of this story** , but I was thinking of writing more drabbles to fill out the holes, you know? Kinda supplying irrelevant information of their day to day before they met, or after, or other's points of view. So **if there is something you would like to read or some question you would like answered in the form of a drabble or two, then don't hesitate to leave it in a comment!** (Or PM me, or contact me through [tumblr](http://kurosakiami01.tumblr.com) ;-) ) If inspiration strikes, I'll try my best to write it!
> 
>  
> 
> That's all folks! I hope you enjoyed this lil' story :3
> 
> Thank you for reading~!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Comments are welcome! And don't forget that you are welcome to come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://kurosakiami01.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Bond Cut Short](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464673) by [Wingzrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingzrooke/pseuds/Wingzrooke)




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